chapter eight | pumpkin muffins

Less of my time was being spent in the office. I decided that going to the theater wasn't so bad anymore. Honestly, it was more enjoyable than I originally thought it was going to be. Owen, of course, was a big part of the reason. And while he was rather nice to be around (and look at), I had other reasons why I liked to go to the theater. For one, I had more bonding time with my mom. While this did have its cons (numerous), I think it made her feel better and more involved in my life. Because of my love for dentistry, I was what people would call a "daddy's girl." Mom loved the dentistry field, she was their number one fan that actually wasn't interested in doing the actual job, but she wasn't as knowledgeable as my trained and educated father. So naturally, she wasn't such a huge part of my tween-teen life. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I didn't hold her to the same importance and I didn't look up to her like other little girls. I didn't care as much when I was younger, obviously, but I was beginning to see the light. I think my attempt was working out so far in showing that I appreciated her. It was her time to shine. Literally, because she wore a reflecting, metallic costume. It almost reminded me of tin foil or an alien/space suit.

"Have you ever been up on the catwalk?" Owen asked me.

I was no theater-geek, so I was unfamiliar with the terms and the setting. I shook my head. "No, what is it?"

The widest grin appeared on his face. It reminded me of Eunice when she figured out I wasn't up to date on the latest gossip. I usually didn't care how "juicy" the gossip was, but I was willing to sit there and listen to what she had to regurgitate, usually after tweaking and exaggerating a couple of (sometimes vital) facts. "You really haven't?" He was stunned.

"Nope."

"We'll have to change that, like, now."

"It's seriously not that big of a deal, Owen." Although, I was secretly excited that he was going to take me somewhere, even if it was only a couple of feet from our current location.

"No, it is."

"Okay. First, explain to me what the catwalk is."

I was picturing like a runway where cats, skinny and fat (my favorite), strutted up and down the stage in cute little outfits designed by people who had way too much time to kill. The thought amused me, bringing a smile to my face. It wasn't as happy as Owen's though. Then it occurred to me that I had put that upside-down frown on his face. That, all in its own, made me rivetingly elated.

"It's that platform above the stage where all the lights are."

"And how are we supposed to get all the way up there?"

A mischievous expression appeared on his face. "Follow me."

He led me through two rooms, all stuffed with props, furniture, and arbitrary things belonging to members of the cast. After jumping, sidestepping, and even climbing the barriers, Owen brought me to the edge of the room. A black, ladder was cemented to the wall, leading up who knows how far. "This is the path to the catwalk."
I looked up, the darkness and unknown lurking before me. "Good to know." I hope he wasn't expecting me to actually climb it. It was an "accident" waiting to happen. Maybe this was Owen's way of eliminating me from his life and everybody elses. "Are you trying to kill me?" I blurted, immediately feeling the regret sink in. I had no other option than to play it off as a joke. I laughed in spite of my terror.

"Yeah," he said, sarcastic dripping like sweet honey from his voice.

I continued laughing, only my tone changed to nervousness. "So, I've already seen it. We can go back now..."

"I don't think so, Flossy. You're climbing up that ladder."

"By myself?" I said meekly.

"You'll have to climb it by yourself, but I'll be right behind you for moral support."

"What? Just moral support? What if I fall?!"

He pointed to his muscles. "I'm not exactly Mr. T, but I'll try my best to catch you if you fall."

A breath was caught in my throat. I know he didn't mean it in the way that it registered in my brain, but just the line made my heart swoon. It was just one of those cliche lines that could make anyone have a melting point of Helium. Right now, I was a puddle surrounding his feet. Because of his unintentional suaveness, I was at his mercy. It was rather unhealthy. "Oh...okay."

He smiled a half-smile. "So are you ready to face your doom?" he said menacingly.

His words made me want to cling to the bottom of the ladder and never let go. "Not particularly."

"Oh, come on, Flossy. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad!? Owen, this is so out of my comfort zone."

"Isn't that what acting is?"

"No. It's pretending to be like other people."

"Okay, yes, but all actors are out of the comfort zone at one point or another.  You just need to wade in the water and make it comfortable for you. This is a good learning experience, Flossy. I promise that you won't regret it."

"I don't know, Owen...I'm pretty sure I won't regret it if I don't make it to the catwalk today."

"What have you got to lose?" he asked convincingly.

"Oh, I don't know. How about my life?"

"You're not going to die. I promise."

"I haven't known you that long. How am I supposed to know that your promises are genuine and will be fulfilled."

"Good point. You'll just have to trust me."

"Eh..."

"I'll give you one of my mom's famous pumpkin muffins as a reward."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to bribe me, Owen Carter?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"And if these pumpkin muffins are really famous, how come I haven't heard of them?"

He shrugged. "Do you live under a rock?"

"No."

"In a tree in Nagorno-Karabakh Republic?"

"Naga-whata-wha?" I asked, bewildered.

"It's a country."

"It is? Where?"

"It's between Armenia and Azerbaijan."

"Yeah, I have no idea where those countries are. Give me some bigger and more popular countries."

"By Turkey and Iran?"

"Still nothing..."

"Underneath Russia?"

"Oh! I know where that is."

"Figures. So come on, Flossy. Please?"

"For a pumpkin muffin?"

"For a muffin."

"How about for two muffins?" I negotiated.

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Flossy," he said. "But I'll take it."

I beamed at the satisfaction, but it was short-lived. I would be heading towards my death in less than five minutes, maybe six if my stalling skills were up to par. Although, I don't think they were very sharp because Eunice continued to blab on about anything and everything that popped into her head.

He patted the ladder, sending a loud, clattering echo throughout the room. It reminded me of a dinner bell or a witch banging a large spoon on the rim of her black pot. "Ladies first." He showily gestured, ending his production by aiming his pointer finger upwards.

I gave him  a sarcastic look, gripping the highest rung I could reach with both of my hands. I stepped onto the first rung, feeling extremely vulnerable. It seemed unsteady, like the bolts could come out at any second. I voiced my complaint to Owen, who assured me that it was completely safe and secure. He didn't factor in my clumsiness and my nervous, sweaty palms.

Rung by rung, hand by hand, and foot by foot, I was slowly and steadily climbing my way up. When the time was right and spaced allowed, Owen joined me. When the weight of his body first joined, a sudden feeling of terror jolted through me, like lightning coursing through the stormy sky. He noticed my anxiousness, quickly comforting me probably because he didn't want me to fall on him. I was doing pretty well until I was three quarters of the way up. My fear of falling began to set in, making my hands feel clammier, my heart beat faster, and my body trembling.  "Owen," I said, my voice shaking.

"You're fine," he soothed. "You're almost there."

I reached the end of the wall, but the entrance to the catwalk was immediately at the top.

"You have to climb over to that platform. Then you have to climb up to the one above that."

It sounded all to complicated, and more importantly, dangerous. "I don't know about this..."

"You're already up," Owen reasoned. "You might as well follow all the way through."

He had a point. I didn't mind wasting my time on this, but part of me thought this entire endeavor was pointless if I didn't finish the task at end, even if it was going to kill me. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the climb that was ahead of me. I tried to push the thought that told me I was going to fall and die a very painful and tragic death out of my head and replace them with positive, motivational thoughts.

I clambered up to the first platform.  The second platform was easier, basically a crouch-step. Obviously, the ceiling was lower. Owen communicated to me that they would have to crawl the rest of the way unless they wanted to their heads to hit the ceiling.

The catwalk was just that. A catwalk surrounded by lights. It wasn't all that exciting aside from the fact that you could see everything from up here: the stage, the auditorium, the sound booth in the very back, the doors. Owen joined me shortly. Army crawling over to me, he whispered, "Isn't this cool?"

I nodded, resting my elbows on the surface. "It is. Not sure if it was worth all the hype though."

He pushed me playfully. "You know you would've regretted it."

I pursed my lips. "Maybe."

"No, you would have," he disagreed.

"Whatever you say," I sang while my eyes were darting around, studying  the scene.

"So why are you here?" he asked.

"What do you mean? You dragged me up here."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, are you looking for a career as an actress or something?"

"Oh, no! I want to be a dentist."

"That still doesn't  answer my question..."

"My mom dragged me into it. It's sort of a moral support thing, you know?"

"Yeah, I gotcha."

"What about you? Are you here for your dad or do you want to be the next Brad Pitt?"

"Neither. The next Steven Spielberg. I'd really like to be a film director, but I'm trying to build my resume and get some experience around the theater and around the actors." He shrugged unimpressively. "It's a start."

"I think that's really great." If we got married and he became big, we would attend red-carpet parties pretty much every day.

"Yeah."

We were up there for about fifteen more minutes, just talking about our future occupations, when Owen asked, "Are you ready to go down now?"

I nodded, scooting my butt towards the exit. Owen went down expertly, helping me down the platforms, even though it wasn't all that difficult. He clutched onto the ladder, practically gliding down it with the effortlessness and efficiency as a sloth gliding through the trees. I grabbed onto the ladder, suddenly aware that my transition from the platform to the ladder could mean my ultimate downfall (death). Nevertheless, going down was much easier than going up. I had experienced what I came to experience, which actually helped me on the journey downwards. Instead of focusing wholly on my terror and what to expect, the conversations I had with Owen on the catwalk actually calmed me down a bit.

By the time my feet touched the ground, I almost bent down and kissed it. I didn't, of course, for the sake of my dignity, but I might have if I was alone. Okay, maybe I wouldn't. I probably would've sighed, said that I was glad that it was over, and go back to my spot in the dressing room or audience.

"Now wasn't that fun?" Owen asked.

I looked at him. "Never again."

---

Alfie thought Eunice's scheduled visit was over, but apparently not. One week later, she was still there. She swiftly replaced Fran as Alfie's daily visitor. He rarely saw Fran anymore, maybe once every other day. She was usually inside baking or at the community pool taking her synchronized swimming lessons. That didn't mean he didn't receive baked goods anymore. Eunice brought them over. While Eunice filled the silence that was usually present in his nightly chats with Fran, he didn't necessarily view it as a good thing. The silence gave Alfie a chance to think and recharge. With Eunice around, however, he couldn't hear or feel the gears turning in his head. He frequently jumbled things up in his mind, confusing not only himself but others as well.

As time went by though, talking to Eunice wasn't so dreadful. They were becoming less of like a strenuous chore that Alfie tried to avoid to something that he didn't mind. He couldn't help but admire the way she added a conglomerate of information to their conversations. She added a bit of peculiar zest to the moment. Most of the time she did this by somehow and someway getting into debates with herself. They were usually heated as she argued and countered herself, offering both sides of the view.  Her reasoning was that there were two sides to every story and someone needed to tell it. She volunteered herself, apparently.

The rants, the complains, and the constant whining was what made Eunice so atrocious. If these stopped, including the insistent touching, then Eunice would be a lovely (maybe not that far) human being to be around. Unlike Fran, whose conversations sometimes took a turn to the dull side, Eunice was almost always filled with life. It was all aspects of life, really. The exciting, the bad, the cheerful, the mundane--all of it. They hadn't reached the tragic points yet, although he suspected that they would sometime, regardless of it being this visit or the next. There was no doubt in Alfie's mind that  this visit would be her last.  He didn't want to admit it, but in a way, he was glad.

"Yeah. When I was ten or eleven, I was really into DIY stuff. I don't think that 'DIY' is the right phrase. Like, craft stuff. I tried scrapbooking, card making, knitting, crocheting, but none of it really stuck. I guess I wanted it to. I spent a fortune purchasing supplies for it. The owners were really appreciate. I saw dollar signs appear in their eyes. Of course, it made me feel better knowing that I was supporting a local business. You know, people that I actually knew instead of corporate mongrels who sat in air-conditioned office buildings in their stiff, fancy suits."

Alfie had no idea how the topic arose, but he didn't have anything worth saying. So he listened to Eunice's story that seemed to have no purpose whatsoever.

"I didn't really understand knitting. Knit one, purl two. It wasn't my  thing. Crocheting was all right at first ,but the only one I could do was the chain or single stitch. Making complicated or pretty pieces were too difficult. My eye for layout and space is weak, so obviously the other two didn't work out so well." She grimaced.

"That's unfortunate," Alfie commented. "Did you at least have fun?" He hear from several adults that all that mattered was having fun. He wasn't so sure, but he assumed that was everybody else's standpoint. Aside from the competitive people, of course.

Eunice shrugged. "I guess. I got frustrated a lot though. I know now that arts and crafts are not my thing."

"Me neither." Alfie didn't know whether or not he had a talent for that kind of thing, but he didn't plan on ever finding out. He just thought his response would make Eunice feel better about herself.

"Anyways, enough about me. What do you like to do?"

That entire sentence was completely bizarre and shocking to him. First, Eunice was willing to listen to someone else besides herself. Now Alfie didn't know Eunice very well, but he assumed that for the most part she was self-centered. In a way, it was a broad and rude assumption, but Alfie liked to think of it as an educated guess. Second, it was a rare occasion when somebody asked him what his hobbies were. She may have felt obligated to, but nevertheless, it stunned him for a moment or two.

His next order of business was to come up with a meaningless list of his hobbies. he wasn't much of a charismatic person, but he also wasn't mute either. He would call himself a caterpillar. He was no social butterfly, but he didn't stay cooped up in a cocoon all day and night. He compared himself to a fish. Domesticated fish didn't need anything but water and their little sand-looking tablet that they called food. To Alfie, they looked content with their lonely world, imprisoned in a small bowl or tank.

"Well," he started slowly, still brainstorming a list. He realized he didn't do a bunch on a day-to-day basis. Up to this point in his life, he didn't do anything particularly meaningful. "I like eating." As soon as he said said those words out loud, he felt lame. They were true, because who didn't like eating? It made him feel pathetic nonetheless. He was willing to bet the teenagers his parents would meet would say something interesting like, "I go shark hunting, or crocodile fighting, or whale watching." Even the latter would be more exciting than Alfie's response of inhaling food. Everybody did that. It wasn't even exotic or foreign food like French cheeses or spicy Indian curry. It was like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips. He imagined the French food his parents would be tasting if they hadn't already. Alfie admired the French. They created beautiful architectural pieces and, more importantly, delicious food and pastries.

Then again, he wasn't exactly trying to impress Eunice.

"Oh! Me too! What's your favorite food?"

His response was automatic and remained unchanged ever since he could remember. "Candy."

"Acceptable. Is there any specific candy that's your absolute favorite?"

Alfie thought, as this was a difficult question for him. "It depends on the day and my mood."

"Oh. Well, mine's chocolate."

"I'm very aware."

"What's your mood today?"

Alfie waited for his brain, senses, and stomach to give him an answer. "Something savory." This feeling was quite uncommon to him. He almost always craved empty calories.

Eunice looked like she was bursting with excitement. "Something like chocolatE?"

"Um, yeah. Chocolate actually sounds pretty nice right about now," Alfie agreed, surprised that she hit his craving spot on.

"Hold on for a second. I'll be right back!" she yelled, jumping up from her seat and running inside to Fran's house.

Alfie started blankly at the now-empty seat, wondering two things--what had just happened and if Eunice was mentally stable. He snickered at the thought of her in a padded room wearing a white suit with a yellow smiley face stamped on her head. He tried to whistle but failed miserably when spit  came shooting out instead. He made a sound that resembled the whinny of one of the ponies he had seen at a petting zoo on a school field trip. It was a sign that he had given up. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair as he waited for Eunice to come back. Lounging back, he looked around and enjoyed the still summer day.

Moments later,, Eunice came tearing through the screen door. She was panting heavily. A heart-shaped tin was encased in her pudgy--and probably sweaty--cotton candy smelling hands. The lid was embossed with a red and pink swirl design. A white arrow was shooting through it. Alfie thought it was a Valentine's Day gift. He could see Eunice having a beau of any sorts, so he figured that it was from her mom or dad, maybe both.

"Whatcha got there, Eunice?" Alfie asked, eying the tin curiously. He was expecting to see buttons in it for sewing, but then recalled that she wasn't so good at arts and crafts. Sewing was sort of like knitting and crocheting, right? They both involved making (usually) an article of clothing.

She lifted the lid, beaming proudly as she did so. It came off easily. She tilted it slightly, putting it on an angle so Alfie could see its contents. It contained a slew of chocolates, a collector's assortment if you will. "It's my little stash of chocolate. You know, in case of an emergency."

Alfie contemplated having an emergency stash, but he would end up eating it all at once. He tried it and the result was exactly that. "That's a really good idea," he said, in high hopes that the compliment would earn him a piece of chocolate. He thought it was awfully cruel of her to tempt him with his craving and not share.

She pushed it towards him. "Well go on. Take a piece!"

He didn't have to be told twice. He scrutinized it greedily, his pupils darting back and forth between each piece while he decided on which one he wanted. After weighing the pros and cons of each, he selected what looked like an individually wrapped piece of decadent Belgium chocolate.

Then Eunice dropped the bombs of all bombs on him.

She set the tin down, clearing her throat and playing with the hem of her baby blue shirt. Her body was fidgeting, shifting her weight from left buttcheek to right buttcheek. "I have something to ask you, Alfie."

"Go on and spit it out." He wanted to add 'don't be shy,' but Eunice wasn't a shy person at all.

"Will you be my boyfriend, Alfie?"

And for Alfie, that's when time stopped. Confusion began to set in, along with dizziness. It was as if someone smacked him with a pan. He really did not want to be her boyfriend, but she had given him what he craved. He would feel really bad, she would feel really bad, and they both would be a pair of non-dating really bad people. He felt obligated to say yes. Besides, he'd probably get more chocolate from her if he agreed. He figured that Eunice would eventually get bored of him and break up with him.

He took his time thinking, and by the time he made eye contact with Eunice, she was a nervous wreck. She appeared to be extremely desperate. Her eyes were shining with vulnerability and hope. They were threatening to spill a waterfall amount of tears. Alfie thought the explosion would come at any moment.

"I knew it was sort of a long shot," Eunice responded despairingly. "I just had to make the effort."

Alfie didn't hold Eunice to high regards, and he certainly didn't like her the way she liked him, but he was still human. He felt a twinge of compassion when he heard the sadness in her voice. It sounded like rejection. "Okay, Eunice," Alfie said, feeling the regret sink in when he heard himself. "I'll be your boyfriend."

He never thought that he would ever utter those words before, especially to someone like Eunice. Whenever he thought about the future, he saw himself married but never with a girlfriend. He supposed that in order to get married he'd have to be in a relationship at some point. Now, he wasn't implying anything about Eunice being his wife, because that was a scary thought.

Eunice's face lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. Her smile seemed so genuine and true as she went to wrap her arms around his stickish body. She picked him up, swinging him around ecstatically crying out, "Yay!"

"You have no idea how happy you've made me, Alfie. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Alfie thought he knew how happy she was. He didn't like being picked up; he never did. When he was a baby, his parents rarely held him because he would cry. He was always happiest on his own feet (or belly or knees when he was younger). He said awkwardly, "Um, Eunice? Do you think you could put me down now?"

She set him down. "Anything for my pumpkin muffin!"

"Err--your pumpkin muffin?" Alfie echoed uncertainly. He didn't like this aspect of a relationship. Name calling.

"It's a pet name. You know, like baby and honey bear! I think they're endearing"

And I think you're annoying, Alfie thought. "Don't you think it's a little too soon for that?"

Eunice batted her eyelashes. "I don't think it was soon enough, pumpkin muffin."